


if my heart was a house

by izurulovesboats



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to past trauma, but his boyf here so we all guud, xeph has a bad anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 11:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20025151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izurulovesboats/pseuds/izurulovesboats
Summary: you’d be home.(xeph? getting overwhelmed? its more likely than you think)





	if my heart was a house

**Author's Note:**

> lowkey a vent fic but hey! sometimes it really be like that

He felt like he barely had room to breathe, even though his room was empty. The tight feeling in his throat was unmistakable, and it didn’t take long for him to feel his head hit the wall, pulling his legs up to his chest and looking up, so tears didn’t leave gross, wet trails down his face. The bed underneath him was a comfort, but not the thing he needed. The scream in his chest was stopped by the lump in his throat, any breath he tried to make out loud suffocatingly difficult. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t  _ breathe _ .  _ He couldn’t  _ ** _breathe_ ** _ .  _

His anxiety usually never got this bad. Never. He was always anxious about something, always listing off a slew of things that set him off. It was usually an explanation, saying things as he saw them so he could fix it. It was just something he did absentmindedly, something to occupy his thoughts so he didn’t distract himself. Once in a while, though, he’ll stop talking entirely. He’ll feel the panic rise as the situation sets, and he can barely keep his composure while struggling through telling the others he needs a break. He doesn’t go completely nonverbal, thank God, but the few words he can say aren’t usually the ones he wants to. ‘I need a break’ isn’t ‘I’m panicking  _ badly  _ and I don’t know why, something probably set me off’. Lalna and Honeydew know how he goes by now, though. They usually got the picture before he broke down in front of them. 

He can’t remember what set him off this time. Whether it be the backlash from the oil outbusrt he had many hours before, or the sheer fact that Honeydew is  _ so close _ to going up and out of the atmosphere, it has left his mind. Although, both are pliable options. He can’t necessarily remember the last time he hasn’t been stressed over the rocket or what lies above the clouds. Sure, he came  _ from _ the depths of space, but he’s never told anyone that he was running from something when he crashed here. He’s never wanted to speak about it. Is that why he’s so fucked, right now? Is it the paranoia that something is going to happen? Is it just him  _ overreacting _ ? He can’t tell. He just needs to get his thoughts back in order. Regain some sort of control over what he can handle. 

He can’t do it. He can’t find his piece of mind, no matter how hard he tries to. He really  _ is _ at his limit, and the more he realizes this, the more he feels like he should dramatically flail himself across his bed and bury his face in his pillow, like in all of those shitty rom-coms him and Lalna watch on occasion. He chokes on his short and choppy breaths, his tears feeling heavier than they did before. He can’t pull himself together right now. He feels so overwhelmed, like the mental bottle he was corking all of his issues in started to crack under the pressure. 

He squeezes his eyes shut when he hears the door open, almost instinctively. The sound is very soft, and he doesn’t need to move from his place leaning against the wall to know who it is. The gentle sound of the door closing brings him some comfort, and the weight shifting on the bed soften the blow of his own issues imploding. His boyfriend always knew when to come in and check on him, and he cannot be any more thankful. It’s just a shame he can’t really vocalize this to him, right now. Lalna’s hand creeps into his, and he feels less like he’s getting crushed under the weight of his own issues. He can hear Lalna question concerningly, yet softly,

“Can you speak right now?” and he can only muster a slight nod. 

He’s trying to think of something to explain how he’s feeling, and the only thing that he can push himself to say is a trembling and weak “Barely.” before he wants to crawl into the wall behind him. He must look so pathetic to him, right now. Tears rolling down the sides of his face, how his glowing features probably have the whole room lit up. He feels like he’s taking up more and more of Lalna’s time, and he hates it. He hates feeling like this. Feeling like he’s just something someone is wasting time on. He opens his eyes, only to keep them looking up at the ceiling. He’d be a bawling mess if he looked at Lalna, seeing that kind of comfort. He needs to think of something distracting. He tries to think of anything,  _ anything _ that would calm him down. He’s desperate to be free from his own mind right now. “Distract me?” 

“Can do, my love.” He sounds so lovingly, it makes his heart melt. He focuses on Lalna’s voice, how it explains the nearby flowers in the fields from the back of Baked Bean Fort, and how Xeph would really like them. “They’re really gorgeous. They’re blue orchids, and they match the color of your eyes.” He goes on about the different kinds of flowers he’s seen in the fields around the bean fort, and slowly, Xephos can feel himself start to breathe normally again. Leave it to Lalna to know exactly how to calm him down. He squeezes Lalna’s hand as he continues, leaning over and resting his head on Lalna’s shoulder, nodding occasionally as he listens to the scientist adorably ramble. 

Today is one of ‘those’ days, he deems it. At least, however, he knows he’ll be fine. Lalna’s here, and that’s all he needed. 

**Author's Note:**

> listen. okay. you can pry xeph liking flowers/making flower crowns from my Cold Dead Hands


End file.
